We can, still, choose to refrain from diving headfirst into this AI experiment on human consciousness. We can decide to not do what we know we can do. As humans who fundamentally want to be happy and don’t want to suffer, we can choose not to be seduced and hypnotized by the excitement, greed, and competitiveness of the tech wizards in Silicon Valley.

As a psychotherapist and interfaith minister, I can say with certainty that technology, in the way we’re using it, has become an obstacle to our overall happiness and well-being. Technology is severely damaging young people’s ability to connect interpersonally and enjoy themselves. The surgeon general has determined that the mental health of young people is “the defining health crisis of our time.” And yet we proceed forward, accelerate faster and harder down the same path, and commit more fiercely to AI as the great solution to life.

Why do we continue hurling ourselves toward what will most certainly become an existential crisis for our society? Why are we surrendering our autonomy and agreeing to be ruled by a technological wizard who doesn’t understand or care about us humans enjoying good lives—a wizard much like Hal the computer, which Stanley Kubrick imagined in his prophetic 1968 film “2001: A Space Odyssey.”

We continue in the name of what we call “progress,” which we define as that which creates more efficiency, is more productive, cuts costs, and ultimately, generates profits. So too, “progress” is whatever allows us to do less, removes some life tasks, and promises to make things easier and faster. The end goal, or so it seems, is to become passengers in our own lives, even if it’s a virtual Frankenstein who’s driving the bus.

The problem, however, is that our definition of “progress” and obsession with pursuing it benefits only a small number of people, those who also reap enormous financial rewards and power from this system.

What if happiness and well-being were what we pursued, considered “progress,” and designed our society around? What if our goal as a society were to create a good life for its members, a life we enjoy and want to inhabit? What if we focused on our experience of living rather than on an idea of “progress” that makes so many people not want to live? Can we change at this stage of the evolutionary game — redefine “progress” such that it means learning to be okay where we are, not always have to move forward at epic speed, and refrain from chasing every possibility regardless of whether it’s good for us or that we even want?

Despite everything we know and directly experience with technology, how it affects and harms our children, and despite our society’s multigenerational epidemic of anxiety, loneliness, and depression, nonetheless, we keep pushing forward, doubling down on technology—going after whatever we can think up, simply because we can think it. We do this no matter the cost, offering up our lives and ourselves as kindling in the bonfire we call “progress.”

We cannot give up on well-being and happiness as the goals for our society, and cannot surrender control of our lives to an AI wizard just because it tells us we should, and will be good for us. What more do we need to know, or discover, to be able to step off this train of relentless “progress,” to take our foot off the accelerator and reevaluate what we want, what matters to us as humans, and how we want to design (and live) our lives?

The post AI or Happiness: Which will we choose? appeared first on Nancy Colier.

At the most basic level, belonging is survival and safety: if we’re not part of the herd, we’ll be left behind and unprotected, which means we’ll die. But these days, belonging is less about physical survival and more about surviving emotionally. We need to belong to something larger than ourselves in order to feel safe, valued, connected, and ultimately, well.

Community is something we belong in and to. It can feel particularly important to be part of a community during the holidays when we come together with our “people” to celebrate rituals and express gratitude for one another. For many people, there’s a greater longing and also an added pressure to belong to a community during this season.

Being part of a community is sometimes viewed as evidence of a good life; to some degree, it is an important factor in a good life and overall contentment. Interestingly, the word “community,” when broken down, has “common” as its root and “unity” as its suffix. And indeed, community is a place where we share and benefit from a common unity with others.

In recent times, however, our community experience has changed profoundly due to our world becoming an online world. In part because of COVID, but also because our world happens on screens now—in a virtual universe. Social media has become our new shared space, the place where we socialize and create community. We don’t gather in person, face to face, as we used to. And furthermore, we don’t seem to think it’s necessary. And yet it is–so necessary.

At one time, the makers of technology may have intended for it to bring people together and create community and a richer experience of life. Regardless of the original intention, however, the system (strengthened by the pandemic) has turned on itself. Recent studies have found that despite being more connected than ever, people feel more alone and less a part of community than ever.

In my book, The Power of Off, I wrote:

“Sadly, with technology we risk winning the world but losing our village. We can be part of a community made up of people all over the world but not talk to the few people who share a bus stop with us every morning. Though known about by everyone, we are increasingly known by no one.”

According to research conducted at the Center for Cognitive & Social Neuroscience at the University of Chicago, the more face-to-face interactions we have, the less lonely we are, while the more online interactions we have (the sort that doesn’t lead to face-to-face contact), the more lonely we are.

When the waitress at the local diner asks us if we want our ‘usual’ or the coffee cart barista notices that we weren’t there the morning before, such experiences make us feel seen, connected, and, ultimately, content. Our need to belong, to feel part of something larger, is met at a primal level when we are part of a physical, real-life community.

Being together and sharing space with other people becomes part of our cellular makeup in a way that’s different, emotionally and neurologically, from sharing something at a distance through the computer. Our body absorbs and retains in-person experiences on a deeper and more integrated level than online experiences. A hug, holding another’s hand, physical touch, all of these kick-off endorphins in our brain, which make us feel good, and which the online community doesn’t offer. Bodies respond to other bodies. The heart responds to direct human contact.

In-person community is also good for us in unexpected ways. For one, it makes us more flexible as human beings and also more empathic. In the physical world, we have to work with and consider others in a way that online relating does not require. Now that it’s possible again, we have to change out of our pajamas, leave our homes, and interact with the world.

Real-life community forces us to get out of the bubble of not just our living room but also our own minds and the narratives we tell ourselves. It demands that we work with others and not just bunker down in our private universes, convinced of our own ideas and thoughts.

Equally important, the physical community offers the opportunity to stretch emotionally and sometimes even to do something hard. Joining a group online or gathering with people over Zoom, for the most part, asks very little of us. Often we can leave when we want to; we can give half our attention and tinker with other projects while it’s happening. In some sense, the online community allows us to be the laziest and least evolved versions of ourselves, physically and attentionally.

Real-life community, on the other hand, challenges us to raise our game and do hard things; it not only demands the effort of leaving the house and showing up physically, but it asks that we show up attentionally present as well, actually there, which is not the easiest and most convenient path to which we’ve grown accustomed.

But the case for all this is in the “boots on the ground” reports. Most people describe a sense of contentment and security when they experience themselves as being part of a shared physical world and physical, real-life community. These same people report feeling empty, unsatisfied, and lonely after hours of participating in virtual communities, precisely the opposite of the experience they crave, and that face-to-face community creates.

I’m not suggesting that we throw away our virtual communities; they serve an important purpose in our lives. And yet, we need to honor the nourishment that comes from spending time in physical community—out in the actual world. In order to reap this nourishment and contentment, however, we need to consciously make time to be together, face to face. Only we can make this happen for ourselves.

So, with a new year on the horizon, and the limitations of the pandemic easing, why not make this the moment to reenter life in an intentional, self-caring, and wholehearted way? Why not give yourself the gift of real-life community, now that you can—the fulfillment of being with other people in union?

You can start with baby steps; take a walk with a friend rather than spending an hour texting “together;” join a class or group that meets in person; go to your local bookstore or community center for an event, or attend a service at a spiritual center. Regardless of what ends up sticking or becoming a habit, I promise you this: real-life physical community, face-to-face, shoulder-to-shoulder, heart-to-heart interaction, in union, holds the possibility of nourishing you more than any other choice you’ll make in 2023.

See you out in the world…

The post It’s Time to Get Off Our Screens and Back to Real Community appeared first on Nancy Colier.

It goes like this: parent asks a question about something their kid is doing or wants to do with technology, something they’re worried about, usually the amount of time the child want to use or the kind of tech he/she is using.  I respond with a suggestion or intervention that requires limit-setting and a set of guidelines for incorporating that change.  Parent then says some form of this: “But if I do what you’re suggesting, I’m going to be yelled at or hated by my kid; it’s going to cause a huge problem.”  I usually smile and say yes.  This however seems to confuse the said parent, as if they’re waiting for me to offer a solution to their problem that doesn’t require discomfort or disagreement, a policy that’s easy to implement.  I then deliver the following, sometimes surprising news alert: “As a parent, you’re not supposed to be your child’s friend.”

We are living in a time when, as parents, we’re supposed to be our children’s best friends at the same time we’re being their parents.  Moms and dads hang out with their kids as if they’re hanging out with peers.  When there’s a disagreement, parents believe we’re supposed to negotiate with our kids as if we’re negotiating with equals.  Parents of seven-year-olds report to me (with a straight face) all the reasons their child doesn’t agree with their decisions regarding the child’s behavior.  I see parents of children under the age of five who get an equal vote in setting up the rules of the house, which includes the rules that will apply to the children.  I hear the delight of parents who are friended by their kids on social media.  We’re spoon-fed the message that we’re supposed to be buddies with our kids and that they should like us, all the time.  And, that we’re bad parents if they are upset by our decisions.

We have thrown away the distinction between an adult and a child, undermined the wisdom of our adult experience, all so that we can be liked by our kids. We’re choosing to be our children’s playmates rather than to do what’s best for them.  There’s no wonder kids now hurl profanities at their parents in public places, to which the parents giggle awkwardly, and wonder if this too is part of the new hip friend/parent milieu.

As parents, we’re taking the easy path, the path of least resistance, telling ourselves that if our kids like us we must be doing this parenting thing right.  In the process of trying to be friends with our kids however, we are giving away our authority, depriving them of the experience of being taken care of, denying them the serenity, trust, and confidence that arises from knowing that we can stand our ground and protect them even when it incites their anger.  It is precisely because we love our children that we need to be able to tolerate their not liking us all the time.

When we’re driven by the desire or responsibility to be liked, we’re giving ourselves an impossible task.  We simply cannot prioritize being liked and simultaneously raise healthy, sane, human beings who can tolerate frustration and disappointment.  We are setting ourselves up for suffering and failure.  We survive on the ephemeral crumbs of being liked—liked for giving them what they want, while denying ourselves the real nourishment of the experience of providing our kids with what we know they really need, pleasing or otherwise.  We are, as with many other things, opting for the easiest, most immediate and pleasurable option over the deeper, harder, and more thoughtful and ultimately satisfying choice.

We are also, in this friending over parenting process, doing a great disservice to our kids.  Our kids need boundaries and guidelines.  A woman I work with who was raised by a parent who, above all, wanted to be her friend, put it this way: “I never felt like there was someone to stop me if I got to the end of the earth and was going to dive off.”  Our kids, even though they may scream and throw things, also want us to know things they don’t, to stick with our wisdom despite their railing, to be willing to tolerate their rants in service to their best interests—to take care of them in ways they can’t yet take care of themselves.  Our kids want us to demonstrate fierce grace.  So too, we feel our best when we walk the walk of fierce grace.

Often, children do not know what’s best for them, and almost never do they know what’s best for them when it comes to technology use.  It’s hard enough for us grownups to realize what’s best for ourselves and children have front brains that are not anywhere near fully-developed.  Allowing children to make their own rules around technology is like handing an opioid addict a vial of heroin or a bottle of oxycontin and asking him to make his own rules whether or not to us.  Young children and teenagers should not get an equal vote in matters that relate to their tech use, nor in many other matters. As parents, we usually possess at least a couple or more decades of experience under our belt that our children don’t possess. Put simply, we know things they don’t, and we can tell them this truth. This makes our kids not equal in matters that require discipline or hard choices, ones that go against what their brains’ pleasure centers, hormones, or inexperienced thinking tells them is best.

Remember this: it’s okay for your child to be upset with you; it’s okay if they don’t like or agree with the decisions you make; it’s okay if your child is madder than a wet hornet at you for setting limits and sticking to those limits. You’re allowed to say no; it takes great courage to say no.  You’re not a bad parent if it gets bumpy and your child goes through periods when he/she doesn’t like you—at all—and maybe even says she hates you for a while. It probably means you’re doing your job as a parent.

Assuming your role as the authority in your child’s life is critical and the more you assume that role, the more you will feel the wisdom of your own authority.  Being the authority doesn’t mean turning a deaf ear to your child’s anger, disappointment, or anything else they feel.  We can listen to our kids’ emotions and thoughts while simultaneously holding our ground on what we know is best for them.  Being the authority in your kid’s life doesn’t mean being callous or insensitive, it does mean being brave enough to stay strong in the face of a tsunami that might come back at you, knowing that your role is to be the grown up in the parent-child relationship, to be loving in your willingness to do what’s best for your kids.  Your role is not to be your child’s friend.

The post Am I Supposed to Be My Kid’s Friend? appeared first on Nancy Colier.

I’ve purchased and participated in a lot of these types of experiences and the feeling I almost always walk away with is one of emptiness and a low-level despair. There’s a depressing quality to the whole experience of experience-chasing. These cool, unique, manufactured experiences feel inauthentic and disconnected and I’m left with a deep feeling of meaninglessness and alienation. I’m supposed to feel like I’m participating in the experience, part of what’s happening, but I actually feel like I’m a witness, and specifically, a witness to the end of the world. The experience itself feels isolated and disconnected and that’s exactly how I feel, no matter how loud the music’s pumping or yummy the snacks taste. So too, I walk away with an awareness of relentless chasing, of getting caught yet again searching for something outside myself to make my life complete. I’m left with a deep sense of the tragedy of the human condition. The emotional residue from these “amazing” experiences is a sense of disappointment, not just for the event, but in myself—that I bit the hook yet again, buying into the dream, the illusion, that my well-being or even happiness could be found in yet another unique experience, which like everything of this sort, will disappear even quicker than the pop-up shop it’s housed in.

We’ve turned experience itself into a product. No longer “in” life or part of the stream of life, we consume our experiences like we would any other object. As a result, we’re cut off, alienated from our direct experience, like fish trapped inside a baggie floating in the ocean—eternally thirsty. We crave the flow experience—full immersion in an activity, with no separation from experience, no separate “I” who’s living it. And yet, the more we crave immersion, the real experience of living, the more we’re compelled to create and consume these “amazing” representations of life, which only intensify our alienation from life.

So too, social media has convinced us that we’re supposed to be living a spectacular life without interruption. “Amazing” should be the norm. Extraordinary should be our ordinary. Why shouldn’t it?  Everyone else seems to be living an “amazing” life. We’re inundated with photos of those hanging off catamarans in Ibiza, clinking champagne glasses in Bali, dining on lobster at the coolest rooftop bar ever created, zip lining through a rain forest canopy, or just floating in the infinity pool of a lifetime. Why not?  It’s up to us to go and get it.

That said, we’re constantly searching for that fabulous experience that will make our life fabulous, and perhaps most importantly, make us fabulous. We’re always trying to keep up with the competition, to not end up the loser in the virtual war of comparison. There’s enormous pressure, all the time, to be doing something uber interesting, different, that no one else has ever done; we’re in search of that great experience that makes it sound like we’re someone who really “has” a life.

The effect of all these “amazing” experiences on us, paradoxically, is to drain the “amazingness” out of our lives. If we’re not experiencing something unique and extraordinary, we feel our lives to be boring, empty, and even meaningless. And yet, so often when we consume these manufactured experiences, we’re left back where we started: bored, empty and without a sense of meaning. Our pursuit of fun and the never-before experienced causes us to stop noticing and appreciating the mundane and routine, which is most of life. We’re putting all our eggs in the “amazing” experience basket and turning away, ignoring the vast majority of what makes up a life.

In the endless search to create aliveness, we deaden our appreciation for our inherent aliveness, the profundity of just being. Here, no matter where we are, disappears in our relentless quest for the next “amazing” there.

The more we chase experiences, the more convinced we become that meaning lies outside of us, in the next experience, the next hashtag.  And, if we could just find the right foam-pit/champagne-bubble/zip-line/haiku combination, we’d be okay. There would be a place we want to be, a place where we can finally be satisfied.

Furthermore, these one-off experiences are not connected to us, not integrated into our lives.  They don’t arise organically out of who we are. And perhaps more importantly even, we haven’t put any time or effort into creating them. We are just the disconnected consumers, ready with our Smartphones to record the sparkly emptiness. Real enjoyment happens, most often, when the experience is connected to us in some way and we have some skin in the game. While interesting in the moment, sometimes, the taste we’re left with is of our own craving and failure to create connection and meaning. But because the message is so strong that we can find what we need outside ourselves, the more we fail, the more desperately we search.

It’s important to ask ourselves what we’re looking for, really looking for, when we chase after experiences. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with doing interesting and fun things, being entertained or even distracted, but we seek experiences, often, with deeper ulterior motives, sometimes conscious, sometimes unconscious. We chase unique and amazing experiences to complete us, create an interesting life, believe or prove that we are somebody, satisfy our longing for meaning, and many other reasons. All experiences are impermanent; they will end, and as such, cannot be fully satisfying.

We’re confusing new experiences with life, believing that life is something we have to go out and find, schedule, buy, and usually, post. We’ve forgotten that life is already happening with or without our effort; it’s already here, and the fact that this moment is happening is already “amazing.” We want to remember this and pay attention to what’s here in between the bubble pools and escape rooms. In truth, experience is happening without our needing to do or buy anything.

Where are your feet right now? Can you turn your attention here? What’s happening here? What’s to be learned from here? And maybe even, what’s already amazing about here?

The post Do You Need “Amazing” Experiences to Feel Alive? appeared first on Nancy Colier.

Just this week, a mom told me that her son is always asking her What’s next? I’m bored, what should I do next? This mom, like most parents these days, feels a tremendous pressure to occupy her son’s every moment, to urgently get rid of his boredom and provide him with activities to quell his what’s next? plea.

Children these days have remarkably busy schedules; their time is filled up to the last second of their day.  Our kids’ attention is unceasingly attended to and for.  Afterschool classes, sports, tutors, playdates, the list goes on.  Even at birthday parties, when a dozen kids are gathered together in the same room, the parents feel responsible for accounting for every moment of the children’s attention.  Fifteen minutes for arrival gift-placing, juice boxing, greeting… next the magician and balloon artist, (attention occupied, 45 mins)… next pizza, cake, and candles (20 mins)… next some kind of “freestyle” dance or art period led by an adult (10-15 mins)…next swag bag (5 mins) followed by shoes and coat retrieval (10 mins)… next, it’s time for the children to go (and someone else to occupy their attention).

Being bored has become this frightening and dreaded experience to which we parents must respond immediately.  Boredom is not up to a kid to figure out anymore, it’s a parent’s issue and a parent’s problem.  Boredom is a state that our children shouldn’t have to endure, and allowing our kids to experience it, not taking it seriously, might even be a sign of parental neglect. As we mistakenly imagine it, boredom is a case of a moment not fully lived, a moment deprived of interest.

In addition, we relate to boredom as an absence, something missing.  We experience it as a state of nothingness: nothing to do, nothing to think about, nothing to learn, nothing to be with, nothing to play with, nothing to experience.  Boredom, as we see it, is emptiness, a void.

As a result of our fear of boredom, we’re encouraging our children to be hyperfocused (not unfocused as we hear), with their attention perpetually focused down on some object of attention. At the same time, technology has created a new normal, namely, constant engagement. With tech has come the expectation that our kids (and even us adults) should be able to live in a state of uninterrupted entertainment and pleasurable busyness, 24/7. Tech makes it possible to meet this expectation by offering a forever-stocked refrigerator of free and interesting food for our attention.  We even get to congratulate ourselves for eating around the clock from this fridge, under the guise of learning more, doing more, communicating more, and what we’ve convinced ourselves is the definition of living more.

Sadly, we no longer trust our kids’ ability to tolerate or even survive open, unfilled time.  We’ve stopped seeing the value in time without a focus, the profound possibility and potential in the cry I’m bored.  Instead, we’ve learned to relate to time without an object of attention as nothing—as opposed to—nothing, yet. The truth is we’ve lost faith in our kids’ imaginations, and the power of human creativity—to generate something when it needs to.

Two things of great value (and more that I don’t have space for here) happen when we’re bored.  First, we have to use our imagination; we have to invent food for our attention.  This is a skill whose importance cannot be underestimated.  Some people say, but Nancy, our kids no longer need this skill of being able to engage themselves because they can just use tech to stay entertained and occupied.  It’s an obsolete skill.  While it might be possible to stay attached to the IV that is technology for the rest of our lives, to agree with this premise would be like saying that as human beings, we should no longer learn to walk because we have cars now, or no longer attempt to discover peace, because after all, there’s always wine.  Regardless of how available and rich the opportunities have become for avoiding boredom, the ability to self-play, create, generate, self-engage is still a profoundly important skill in the development of a healthy human being.

It’s our responsibility as parents to build the skills of imagination and creativity. The way we do it, in large part, is by giving these skills (that are in seed form when our children are young), the chance to play, evolve, do their work, and become. Boredom is water for these seeds.  When we’re supplying all the goods for our kids’ attention, we’re actually encouraging our children’s imaginations and creative capacities to atrophy and die.

Secondly, when a child says I’m bored, it’s because he can’t find anything that interests him.  But where is he looking?  Usually, he’s looking outside himself.  When we say we’re bored, it’s because, in essence, we have nothing to distract ourselves from ourselves. We’re stuck with just ourselves and our own attention to pay attention to.  Unfortunately, we’re being conditioned to experience ourselves, our own company, as nothing interesting, or simply nothing.  When we frantically shove a next activity in front of our child because he’s bored, we’re creating (and supporting) his belief that without something added to himself, he’s nothing.

The remarkable invitation that boredom offers is the invitation to spend time with, take interest in, or at the very least, learn to tolerate our own company.  It’s in the gaps between focused activities that we can turn our attention to our own thoughts and feelings, and maybe even to the experience of boredom itself. We can ask, Is paying attention to boredom, boring?  When we don’t have an object for our attention to chew on, something else to engage us, we’re left to play with just ourselves.  Even if technology now makes it possible for our children to outrun themselves all the way to the grave, to never have to be alone in a room with just themselves, nonetheless, the ability to be with themselves, to not fear or dread their own company, is the most valuable skill our children will ever learn.  In boredom lies the possibility that we ourselves can become a worthy destination for our own attention.

In answer to the question my title poses, it’s not only okay to let your child be bored, it’s paramount that you do so.  When your child complains that he’s bored, you can simply say, it’s okay to be bored now and then, it won’t hurt you and it will help you, in ways you can’t yet know. And just before they leave the room, just whisper, if only to yourself, Your boredom just means I’m doing my job as a parent.

Read more Nancy Colier on Psychology Today:

https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/inviting-monkey-tea

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Read the full article in The Irish Examiner http://www.irishexaminer.com/lifestyle/healthandlife/digital-distraction-are-smartphones-dumbing-down-students-457223.html

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Do you compulsively check your emails? Are you always plugged in? Let’s face it: Our society has an addiction to technology.  In this interview, Rose talks to Psychotherapist and Author, Nancy Colier, about her new book The Power of Off: The Mindful Way To Stay Sane In A Virtual World, her story of being addicted to technology and what inspired her to make a change.  https://www.rewireme.com/media/rose-interviews-nancy-colier-power-off-mindful-way-stay-sane-virtual-world/

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